


Would You Like Fries With That?

by TheNarcolepticOne



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 08:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5327804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNarcolepticOne/pseuds/TheNarcolepticOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Without any other alternative for a lunch break, Arthur decides to settle for McDonalds; his least favourite establishment in proximity to work. But along the way, a rather odd foreigner decides to take some part of the stage too. Fate seems to always have it that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Would You Like Fries With That?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fabulouspizzadelivery](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=fabulouspizzadelivery), [FranziskaEdelstein](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FranziskaEdelstein/gifts).



> Hey guys! So...ehe...it's 3:30AM.  
> I'm such a loser for writing this so late...omg...  
> But NaNoWriMo has come to an end and I needed about 1,000 words left. So here's the result of that.  
> This might not fit your description of "cute-ass bullshit that makes you feel all fuzzy" standard, Jess. But I tried (; ^.^)

Arthur was late. He hated being late, and he hated leaving bad impressions on people. The concept of not knowing when he might arrive at a specific location at a specific time just _bothered_ him enough to make his chest ache, and thus, his dislike for tardiness. But it couldn’t be helped. From the time that he had started on his paper work last night, to the early morning memory of seeing the digital clock read 3:39AM before he dozed off; it made it an understandable mental mistake. But a mistake like that usually bargained his job, and his paycheck by extension. He might not be able to afford pressing down on the gas pedal to an almost horizontal position if he lost it today. Though, he believed it best not worry about it now.

The radio was off; it was a distraction to his focused driving. He honked a man for being unbelievably slow in accelerating after the light had turned green. He barely saw hand of the man he passed (probably giving him the middle-finger) out his window before he overtook him. And a string of curses left his lips as he continued to tailgate another car, and promptly turning left so hard that his Alfasud nearly tilted on its side.

Arthur practically sped down the straight path leading to his building; able to maneuver the traffic with practiced skill (though it was more likely from experiencing lateness more than he’d like to admit). His car had barely fit between the two lines of space provided. Arthur wasted no energy wanting to fix it as he stumbled into the building with only four minutes to spare.

\+   +   +

The next round of orders began to start up as Alfred adjusted the black hat with the famous M on his head, along with the headset for listening to the drive-in orders from outside. He sighed, getting to his station as he started to clean it up a bit. Another six hours of standing in one place and taking the same orders every time. Not that he really found it bothersome, however. He _did_ get paid, and generously too. The manager seemed to have an interest in his rather peppy personality, to which he took as both a compliment and another reason why he was always asked to take longer shifts than his co-workers.

Days like this usually stacked on him, though. Homework and housework had to be put on hold for those six hours, and it usually didn’t mean any good news for him later when his mother came home with tired look, but fuming rage. At least he was doing something productive, or else his (new) phone would get confiscated.

Alfred, despite being here for 2 months now, had just barely moved to England and was currently waiting for the start of the academic year to begin at the University of London. Getting into a foreign institution was difficult; what with the sudden separation of his parents and his mother’s hasty decision to return to where she was raised. But he was able to make it just fine, albeit being technically alone and friendless until then. It didn’t really let it get to him, and instead chose to think positive by smiling everyday like the happy meals he was meant to advertise.

He was a little later than normal to coming to work. The busy traffic and the rush of people trying to get to their offices by their strict time quota was a familiar battle he had to fight everyday. The only difference was that by the time they got to work, the entire memory of the ordeal would go away instantly until the next rush hour for lunch and the third one on the way home.

Conversely for Alfred; it was an unending cycle of less than happy customers demanding specific orders from the menu all day every day. From the morning people who want to buy a quick breakfast at Mickey D’s, to the asswipes who yell at him because his co-worker forgot the mustard.

It was jumble for everyone on board.

The shift thankfully didn’t start until fifteen minutes later. His lunch break was only so short. Alfred propped his elbow on the counter, staring out through the small window with a strong sense of irritation.

Some shitty excuse for a driver wanted to ruin his morning by not even _giving_ him a chance to move forward even an inch before the light switched. The American didn’t feel the need to dwell on those thoughts for long, but he often wanted to vent his stresses privately some of the time. His happy-go-lucky façade couldn’t always keep itself up.

Alfred knew afternoons weren’t always his favorite type of the day. But he would get off soon enough. The stench of burgers seemed to always fill his nose and he was, lord forbid it, actually getting tired of the stench.

Ugh. He probably needed to purge himself later by buying another Big Mac on the go.

“Are you doing okay, Alfred?”

The blonde’s head turned. Before him stood a kind man, gentle with the way he spoke but with a certain independence that was admirable even to Alfred. He didn’t speak much, but only if he was concerned for a friend.

“Yeah, Toris,” he sighed. “Just a bit tired. And a little bit of road rage left in me. Nothing bad, I swear.”

The other shifted in his step.

“Well…I suppose. You’re still getting used to it here, anyway. You mentioned you lived in rural area before coming here. It’s a big change. I thought m-maybe I might relate a little, being a foreigner too…”

Alfred rose his eyebrows. His smile went back to full blast as he pat Toris on the back. It was rough enough to make him stumble.

“Thanks for worrying about me, man. I feel fine. Don’t sweat it.”

With a final glance over in his station, he stood there, ready to take the orders. The monitor revealed a familiar looking car in the line, and Alfred turned the headset on.

\+   +   +

Arthur yawned, staring ahead as he waited for the next car to finish their order. McDonald’s wasn’t a place that he would rather prefer to eat. His preferences usually consisted of sit in, full course dining restaurants with a little bit of class and some variation with the foods; not really some branch-extended business that was only there for the sake of profit. But alas, the other cafés were particularly full and this was the only option near enough to his workplace without much concern with the distance.

The car ahead finally moved forward, and he pushed down his parking break and accelerated slightly to align himself with the large walkie. He rolled down his window with some effort before he leaned out enough for the man to hear him.

_“Hi! Welcome to McDonald’s! What can I get started for you?”_

Arthur took a moment to ponder the voice. American. He blinked, uneasy at the fact that he almost assumed that he was in the States for a few seconds.

“Uh, hello,” he greeted rather offhandedly. “I’d like a cheeseburger, please. No pickles or condiments. And a drink as well. Sweet iced tea, if you have it.”

There was a moment of silence as the order began to go through. But before the actual price was announced, a different response came out instead.

_“Are you sure that’s it, sir?”_

“I’m positive I know what I want, yes.”

_“No…lettuce? Or tomatoes?”_

“I probably would have mentioned that in my order, _sir_ ,” he said, getting slightly annoyed with the questions. Was this business really just bent on getting his money on basic vegetables? “Now may I please proceed?”

 _“Uh, sure,”_ he said awkwardly before stating the price. _“I’ll be at the window.”_

Without so much as a hasty ‘thank you’, he put his upper frame back inside his car and left his window open as he drove to the window.

By the time he got half way there, he heard the same voice, asking the car behind him about his order. A fast worker, no doubt. He began to feel the weight of his exasperation lift by a fraction. Despite the the man’s obvious rookie-like style of work, at least it was something. Arthur briefly wished he could go back on his years before attending London University and work like the cashier was doing instead of the relaxing he did back then.

He was a first year graduate student now. There really wasn’t any need to dwindle on the past.

The windows realigned again, and Arthur yanked up the parking break before looking to the employee.

And his heart thumped.

The individual in question wasn’t quite ready to talk to Arthur, but was instead typing the orders onto a monitor. Arthur noticed the way his black polo seemed to hug his body in the right places, revealing to be what looked like a well-preserved athlete’s physique. It was hard to find those types in the autumn. Even his face appeared more foreign than he expected. Sure, the man was blonde like him. Except hearing his voice alongside actually _looking_ at the physical body made it all the more different.

It screamed American.

And he swallowed.

What a _bloke_.

Eventually, the other got off of the headset and walked to the window, smiling as he leaned down (almost casually) to Arthur’s height.

His car wasn’t elevated, so it made some sense why he was doing it. Although he actually believed that his Alfasud was a piece of junk, perhaps it had some use after all.

He had a good view of his cashier.

“Hi,” the American greeted again. “Cash, credit or debit?”

Arthur cleared his throat, looking back to his empty seat and grabbing his wallet.

“Cash.”

For a moment, the stare of the attractive man was rather embarrassing as he sifted through is wallet. He pulled out two, five pound notes and handed it to him. From this action, he was able to get a name from the name tag he wore.

Alfred F. Jones.

He couldn’t have gotten any more American than he already was.

Alfred took the money, putting it in the register before handing back the change.

“Alright. Excuse me a moment. I’ll be back with your order.”

Arthur put the extra change back in his wallet before sighing.

Christ. He thought his hormones were at a stand still after Francis. And it just resurfaced as quick as a rabbit’s birth.

Alfred returned soon enough, and with the paper bag. Arthur retrieved it, putting it into his lap and checking the food to make sure it was right. It was.

“Thank you,” said Arthur without looking at him. He feared if he did, he would be blushing a lot more obviously than he was now. Arthur set the food right next to his wallet on the empty seat. He was about to release the parking break, but not before Alfred spoke up again.

“Would you like fries with that?”

The Englishman glanced up.

“…since you’re asking…but make it quick.”

\+   +   +

Alfred looked as the man drove off while he waited for the next in line. Sometimes, people didn’t appreciate this establishment like they should. And Alfred wanted to get it a point to get as many snobby Englishmen to try and _taste_ the burgers first before saying it stinks. He was glad he was able to convince the last customer otherwise.

Before he could even try and turn back to the monitor, he just caught the sight of the recent car driving away.

On its bumper was the coat of arms for the University of London. It made itself familiar in two ways. The first with its obvious relevance to him. The second being that it was the same asshole who decided to honk him.

The cutest asshole he had ever laid eyes on.

And he had just gotten him extra fries for being such an asshole.

It made _him_ feel like an asshole.

…but fuck that.

He hoped he’d stick around longer tomorrow.

 

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  _Posted December 1, 2015_   
> 


End file.
